Where is Colonel Hogan?
by 80sarcades
Summary: A summary of thoughts about our favorite Colonel.


_**Where is Colonel Hogan?**_  
_**by 80sarcades**_

* * *

Just a short little piece about our favorite Colonel and the thoughts of those who know him.

Disclaimer: Hogan, Hogan, everywhere  
And yet nothing is mine  
Hogan, Hogan, everywhere  
This story makes no dimes.

Ah, but only if it did…enjoy!

* * *

_I wonder if I should call in sick?_

The thought ran though Marie Hogan's mind even as she relaxed in her comfortable lounge chair. A drink - specifically, Scotch and water - sat on the metal table next to her. The lawn beyond the veranda was neat and tidy; even her rose bushes were immaculate. A light breeze slid invisibly though the trees, making the leaves rustle; otherwise, all was quiet and peaceful.

The whole scene was both beautiful and yet also irrelevant. Yes, she had her place as a society matron as well as the mansion to match. Yes, she was wealthy and, to a large degree, powerful. With a single call, she could have almost anything she wanted, war or no war. Money could buy almost anything.

On the other hand, what was the point of enjoying it all if your only son was in a Prisoner of War camp?

Marie sighed, then held up her glass for a refill. _At least the war hasn't taken that away. At least, not yet_, she sourly thought, smiling thinly as her servant poured more amber liquid into her glass. _It was bad enough trying to get Hector declared essential, but that won't last. Neither will the booze if the war keeps going on; the damned Marines will drink it all!_

_So what will I do when they're both gone?_

Marie decided not to think about that answer. Instead, she picked up the latest letter from her son and started to reread it. Of course, it only contained good things, as always. Robert didn't want his mother to worry about him, so he wrote mainly about the men in the prison camp and the goings-on there. Despite that, she continued to worry. Not even those with money could escape the war for long since something, somewhere, always brought it back to mind. Even baseball - her late husband's favorite pastime - had all-female teams! At least the War Bond rallies were highly useful to her; they made her feel like she was actually doing something to help victory come about.

Try as she might, however, she couldn't help but be jealous of the heroes the Armed Services brought out for some of the rallies. Yes, they looked wonderful - some of them were even gorgeous; a few years ago she might have gone after them but not now - but at the same time they made her mad as hell. They were _here_, and her son was _there_.

It was enough to make her curse the Germans, the Army, and anyone else that stood in the way of seeing Robert. Even worse, she had another rally tonight. To make matters worse, some of the heroes standing onstage would be Army pilots. The Mayor would even be there; the whole event was a front page event waiting to be made. Unfortunately, she couldn't avoid it either.

If anything, the whole mess made her want to get drunk. Or drunk and laid, neither of which would happen this night. Tonight, she would play the part of a patriotic blue star mother doing her bit for her POW son. Tomorrow…well, tomorrow was tomorrow. With another sigh, she downed the drink in her hand and left it on the table before getting up from her chair. As she walked inside to dress, another thought popped to mind:

_I wonder what Robert is doing right now?_

* * *

Marie would have been surprised - almost shocked, even - if she knew that a German had that same idea. It was just as well; the man who thought of it substituted a more descriptive word in the place of her son's name.

For the third time that night, Wolfgang Hochstetter silently cursed Colonel Robert Hogan.

The investigation report on the latest sabotage was just that: paper. The circumstantial evidence was clear, however; the unit conducting the sabotage was professional and well supplied. Despite the theories of his superiors - none of whom could understand why the saboteurs continued to operate at will - Hochstetter knew that it had to be Hogan and his men. _It had to be._

The problem was that he couldn't prove it!

No one believed that a Prisoner of War could commit sabotage; the very idea was laughable at best. Even a proper investigation was impossible without solid proof. Without it, as long as Hogan was under Luftwaffe protection the Gestapo could not touch him. Instead of remaining in his cozy little POW camp, the man somehow managed to show up in all sorts of different places. A fact, of course, that irritated the Gestapo Major to no end. _The man is a prisoner, yet he refuses to remain one! And Klink is even worse! How that swine became a Colonel is beyond me! _

Despite his utter loathing for the American, Hochstetter had some respect for his prey. He was a challenge, after all; when Hogan was finally captured - and he would be, the Major told himself - the taste of victory would be sweet. Until then, he could wait. Americans, after all, were arrogant and overconfident; sooner, rather than later, the man would slip up.

In the meantime, the very thought that the most dangerous man in Germany was on the loose was enough to drive him to drink. Which he couldn't, due to his ulcer. Much less his other health problems, all of which he blamed on the American bastard…

_Damn him! Damn him to hell!_

_I'll see him on his knees yet, begging for his life!_

_I wonder what you're doing right now, Hogan? Planning more havoc for the Reich? Enjoy your precious barracks, Hogan! I'll get you yet!_

_After all, I know right where you are. It's just a matter of time…_

* * *

Strangely, General Burkhalter was also thinking of the American at that very moment.

To be honest, there was little else to do in the bomb shelter. He had no desire to speak to his fellow Generals; all of them, to one degree or another, loved power. If another officer had to fall by the wayside in order for them to succeed, then so be it.

_Backstabbers. The lot of them. And to think we might achieve Final Victory in spite of that!_

The British bombers overhead were doing their usual job of pounding Berlin to pieces; a nearby bomb hit caused the shelter to turn dark for a long moment. Only the burning coals of lit cigarettes could be seen in the pitch black interior for a long terrifying moment before the electric lights flared back into life. Except for a few hushed conversations here and there, no one spoke aloud; it was as if they didn't want the Tommies to overhear and come after them. Even the generators supplying power to the 'elite' shelter were muted through the thick concrete.

It was all enough to make the Infantry General wonder about hell. As things stood, he was on the right path to get there.

It was bad enough to deal with the Führer on a regular basis; the man had gone from certifiably brilliant to certifiably insane. Of course, he couldn't say such things, of course. Not if he wanted to stay alive. Then there was the Army, then his wife…

If the truth were actually known, General Burkhalter was actually _jealous _of Colonel Hogan.

True, the man was a prisoner. On the other hand, he had no official duties or command to attend to. No paperwork, or decisions to be made. Instead, he merely had a duty as the senior officer to look after the enlisted men in his charge. A job at which he excelled; at times he had to wonder who was actually running the camp, Hogan or that idiot Klink. The fact that Stalag 13 had no successful escapes merely proved the point. Hochstetter, of course, believed that Hogan was a saboteur. That alone made Burkhalter snort in amusement. With such theories it was no wonder that the idiot was still a Major. Even if he did have the Golden Pheasant badge…

The General cringed as another bomb explosion - this one too close for his tastes - rocked the shelter again. It was at times like these that you could tell the professional officers from the rest of the decorated sheep; at least the former had experience in the Great War or on some other modern front. The others, of course, scattered to the winds so as to not dirty their precious uniforms.

It was why, oddly enough, he didn't actually mind going to Stalag 13 every so often. Unlike the other camps - filled with backstabbers also, though of lower rank - he could always count on meeting a professional officer at arms even if he wore a different uniform.

Ignoring the nearby blasts, General Burkhalter reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case. It took him a moment to grab his lighter out of the other pocket before he calmly lit a cigarette. Maybe he would be lucky and the shelter would take a direct hit. Maybe…

_Perhaps I'll be lucky tonight. Even if I survive, I'm sure I can find a willing female to share my company; a General's uniform does work wonders. Of course, the food and drink I have stored away may entice her as well. Preferably, more than one._

_Otherwise, I'd have to face my wife. As much as I would love for a bomb to drop on her, I know better: the Zoo Flak Tower can pretty much withstand anything the British or Americans can throw at it. The Führer also frowns on divorce - odd, considering he's not married - so I can't get rid of the woman. I believe it was an American Civil War General - General Lee, I believe - that said that he would rather die a thousand deaths than face surrender; in my case, I'd rather be sent East than spend time with her._

_Colonel Hogan doesn't realize how lucky he is!_

_I hope you are having a good night, Colonel. I salute you, as one officer to another._

_As it should be._

The dull thuds died off, then stopped altogether; a few minutes later the all clear sounded. Burkhalter groaned. Another day would face him tomorrow.

_Another reason to get drunk._

* * *

Colonel Klink, meanwhile, considered getting drunk himself. It would be the only way, he decided, that anyone could read _Mein Kampf._

Try as he might, the book made little sense to Klink; the Führer rambled on about this or that. It made him actually wonder if anyone - besides the party elite, of course - had actually read it. Most likely no one did, yet you could find one in almost every home along with a picture of Adolf Hitler.

It made him wonder if the American leader, Franklin Roosevelt, had a similar book for his own citizens. Somehow, the Kommandant doubted it; Americans were too…_what was the word?_ Klink thought. _Arrogant. Yes._ Americans were too arrogant to take orders, while the German side craved discipline.

Sometimes he wondered if that was a bad thing. Twice in his lifetime Germany had gone to war; the first time they had lost. As for the second time…

_I don't want to think about that. If - when - we lose, we lose everything._

Oddly, it also brought to mind Colonel Hogan, his Senior Prisoner of War. The man was a typical American: arrogant, conceited, self-confident. A complete opposite of a typical German man.

_And yet, he has saved me on more occasions than I would like to admit. Where would I be now if it hadn't been for one of Hogan's marvelous plans? At the Eastern Front? Or under it?_

_I wonder, if circumstances had been different, if we could have been friends? Even though he is the enemy, Hogan is friendly enough. Certainly, as an officer of equal rank, he is professional enough to treat me with respect even if he has that smug look sometimes. _

_I hope I can do the same when the time comes and our positions are reversed. _

Klink looked longingly at the liquor bottle by his bed, then sighed as he shook his head. Not tonight. He got up from his bed and walked over to the front window; he could see part of Barracks Two - Hogan's Barracks - illuminated occasionally by the harsh glow of the tower searchlights. For a long moment, he stared at the building before he turned away and went back to bed.

_Good night, Colonel Hogan_, he thought. _I hope you are enjoying yourself tonight…_

* * *

Colonel Klink would have been surprised to learn that his Senior POW was indeed enjoying himself.

Instead of the cold barracks, however, Colonel Hogan was at an apartment located in the nearby town of Hammelburg. He was also in the arms of a beautiful blonde female; she reluctantly pulled away from their long kiss before she whispered something into his right ear. Hogan grinned devilishly at the blonde before he picked her up off the couch in his strong arms.

"Guess I know where I'll be for a while…" he murmured softly as he carried her into the bedroom.

[fin/ende]

A/N: In a sense, Hogan is much like the men that carried the Colors or other flags into battle during the American Civil War: he takes enormous risks, holds his _standard_ high, and _fulfills _his duty where he may find it. Sorry, couldn't resist that:-) All reviews, of course, are appreciated!


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